Gemotions

The mouse hovered over the listing. A deep breath. There it was. The old Victorian, all gingerbread trim and peeling paint, blinking back at him from the screen. He clicked. A cascade of photos flooded the display, each image a potential portal to a past he'd thought lost. His fingers drummed a rapid tattoo against the desk.

He practically leaped out of his chair. He had to see it. Right now. He grabbed his keys and jacket, nearly tripping in his haste. The drive was a blur, each passing mile igniting a furnace in his chest.

Pulling up to the curb, he saw the "For Sale" sign, newly planted. His breath hitched. He felt a powerful urge to dash up the walkway, push open the front door, and reclaim it all.